CEO's Expectant Secretary(33)

“Not lately,” she said.

“Are you telling me you never want me to take you out for a steak?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted. “Just later.”

“Okay, I’ll take a raincheck. Same for that strawberry martini,” he said. “Favorite toy from childhood?”

She blinked. “My little pony,” she said. “I always wanted a pony, but I knew that was an impossible dream.”

“Favorite dessert?” he continued, losing himself in her ocean-blue gaze.

“Chocolate anything,” she said.

He smiled. “If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?”

“Europe.”

“That’s a whole continent,” he said.

“And your point is?” she said, lifting her eyebrow.

He laughed, drinking in her audacity. “I wish my father had met you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. “I’m just an assistant.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re more. Observant, responsive and fascinating.”

“Now, you flatter me,” she said, flashing her eyes at him.

“Technically, I don’t need to flatter you anymore. You married me, so I can coast.”

“Oh, I think that would be a huge mistake,” she said. “For both of us. Don’t you?”





Seven




Brock made love to Elle through the night until she was too exhausted to continue. She curled up against his chest, slid her arms around his neck and fell asleep. The next morning she awoke to an empty place beside her. Elle lifted her head. She heard his voice, but not close by.

Pushing aside the covers, she rose from the bed and listened as she pulled on her robe. Was he downstairs? She crept closer to the bedroom door, and pushed it open.

“It’s Sunday, for God’s sake,” Brock said, his voice carrying from downstairs. “Can’t this wait?”

Silence followed. She heard Brock swear. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back in town by this afternoon and in the office this evening.” He swore again. “This better be worth it,” he muttered.

Elle felt a twist in her stomach. The short, sweet time they’d shared together was over. Her chest hurt. Her heart hurt, but she didn’t want him to feel bad after he’d made such an effort for them to get away. She bit her lip. “Hey,” she called downstairs. “This has been wonderful, but I’m ready to return to civilization if you don’t mind.”

Brock walked out from under the second-floor landing so she could see him. Shirtless, he wore silk pants low on his hips. His bare chest was mesmerizing, his hair tousled by her fingers. He was the sexiest thing alive.

“You don’t like the cabin?”

Her heart wrenched in her chest, but she forced herself to step up and give the response he needed. “No, I love it. But I have a ton to do and I’m starting to feel a little antsy,” she said. “Do you mind?”

His gaze wrapped around hers for a long moment and he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No problem. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll load the car.”



As soon as Elle and Brock arrived home in San Francisco, he returned to the office. Elle returned to redecorating the house. With the assistance of Bree, she’d found a decorator who helped her combine some of the older elements in the house with some of Brock’s taste. Elle decided to retain a semi-formal tone for the living room and dining room for entertaining.

Brock was so busy he often didn’t come to bed until after eleven o’clock, but he always rose early. She knew he was still feeling pressured by Golden Gate Promotions. Despite her grandfather’s heart attack, he still hadn’t given up his fight against Maddox. More than ever, Elle was aware of how much her deceit was costing Brock. It seemed as if all he did was work. She didn’t see how they could possibly rebuild their relationship under the current circumstances, but she also couldn’t exactly stomp her foot and demand he spend more time with her.

He surprised her one evening when he arrived home before dinner. She was eating a club sandwich in front of the television and debating whether to visit her mother again.

“Hey,” he said, looking unbearably handsome in the doorway. “I like what you’ve done with the downstairs,” he said. “You combined the old with the new and lightened it up.” He glanced at her sandwich. “That looks good, too.”

“I can fix you one,” she said, standing, filled with the instant pleasure of just being with him.

He shook his head. “No, I can get the housekeeper. It won’t take a—”

As if on cue, Anna stepped inside the room. “Good evening, Mr. Maddox. Mrs. Maddox.” Glancing at Elle’s plate, she shot her a disapproving glance. “Is there something I can get you?”